


Sleepwalk

by odoridango



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, F/M, Nonexplicit sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 16:26:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3735685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odoridango/pseuds/odoridango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annie has a secret, and sometimes has nightmares. Eren cannot know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepwalk

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for AnnieEren week, for day 6: passion and love. Annie and Eren are the tragic couple of my dreams ok, where are all my super sad and serious reincarnation AUs

Annie has a secret. She breathes it in the dark, dreams it, lets it wander outside her body when she sleeps and gasps back it in when she wakes with a jerk, covered in cold sweat.

Eren will move groggily, settle a comforting hand over her waist. “Hm, you ok?” he’ll mumble, press a kiss to the crown of her head.

“I’m alright,” she’ll murmur, eyes wide, blank and staring, watching the white curtains move in the slight summer breeze, tensing a little when she feels his lips at the back of her neck. She’ll feel the hunger in her open its jaws, the selfishness, the greediness, all the things that she’d never been able to let go of, all the things that had stopped her from being the perfect soldier, and she’ll toss him on his back, pin his hands to the headboard, lick up his jaw, kiss him until his lips are red and raw, she’ll rock and move with him until he’s flushed and trembling, eyelashes damp and fluttering, helpless underneath her. 

Her hands are shaking when she pries his mouth open with her fingers, licks in deep, and he moans, looks at her with eyes blown wide open, and sometimes that’s enough for her to remember that in this life, she has him, she knows him, she’ll never have to see him yelling, screaming at her, rage and sorrow in his minds, grief writ in clenched hands and sloppy fighting, in the horrified twist of his mouth and slow dawn of understanding.

That is, unless he remembers.

It’s quiet tonight. She doesn’t dream, because she cannot sleep, and she strokes his hair quietly, watching his chest rise and fall. He’s softer, fuller, body gentle with a life that’s been good to him, untouched by starvation or life threatening injury. He’d been the one to approach her, to say hello, to say, bold as brass as he ever was, “You look interesting and you’re awesome when you fight, wanna go out?”

 _I know you_ , she wanted to say, _and this will ruin you one day._ But she said yes. Because she wanted to. Because she wants this little thing for herself, this little freely given thing. It’s not wrong. It’s not unusual to want small happinesses, to make small spaces for yourself.

She wants this small thing, wants to stroke his hair and the line of his strong brows until his lashes flinch in waking, wants to read freedoms, like forest vistas, like the green of his old cloak, into his eyes because he’s always been crap at poetry, and she doesn’t believe in poetry at all. She’ll steal a kiss from his lips, she’ll steal love from his body, she’ll steal the warmth from his skin, she’ll pull off the perfect heist and leave her dirty little fingerprints everywhere she can because she wants this, she wants this little _little_ thing. Can it cost him if he wants it? Can it cost him if he gives it freely?

In the night she dreams, falls back into her body once, twice, dozens and hundreds and thousands of times, wakes to him to rob again, but her love is strong, her little thief’s love, and this time, she’s not willing to give it up, or leave it to inevitability.


End file.
